


Slow and Steady Rush

by ashembie



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, Multi, War? What War?, idiots to lovers, playing fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashembie/pseuds/ashembie
Summary: The best and worst part was that Laurence considered him his closest friend, and he thought the same. He loved Laurence in all his glory and all his flaws. Maybe it would have been easier if he only loved some idealised version of Laurence in his head, but would it have been as sincere? Granby thought not.He sees Tharkay come to a similar realisation in Istanbul. Watching his own emotions play in another man’s eyes is an indescribable experience, and so is the friendship that it sparks between them. If Laurence is surprised to learn how close Granby and Tharkay become so fast, propriety demands he doesn’t comment on it.
Relationships: John Granby/Tenzing Tharkay, John Granby/William Laurence, John Granby/William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay, William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30
Collections: Temeraire Summer Exchange 2020





	Slow and Steady Rush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akaparalian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/gifts).



> Happy Temeraire Summer, Elissa!! 
> 
> This started out as one thing and then Granby would not shut up, so it became something else entirely - I hope you like it <3
> 
> title from Breathe by Faith Hill ~~dont judge me~~

Mam had told him once, after he’d gotten his heart well and truly broken for the first time, that love was not a destination, it was a journey. Granby didn’t know what she meant then, but as they make their valley a home, he thinks he is a little closer to understanding.

He knows that even for the life of an aviator in active service, he has travelled further than many of his peers, seen wonders they will never see, and faced dangers they will never know. Now that his physical journey has ended, he finds himself with more time to spend wondering about the journey his mam had meant.

The last five years of his life have been defined by his love for Laurence. Now he has made plans to ensure that the rest of his years are too. Every choice he has made has been from his heart; that love for Laurence may have been unrequited, but it was love nonetheless, and it demanded to be felt. He is certain that he was as thoroughly consumed as he would have been had it been requited. He accepted his destruction and so for the most part, he was content. He could even be happy at times.

But sometimes tendrils of guilt would slip up his spine and wrap around his stomach, squeezing until he felt nauseous. Whenever his eyes lingered too long on the angle of Laurence’s jaw as he shaved, or when his hands brushed Laurence’s thighs as he checked his harness, that guilt would surface and he would expend considerable effort at exorcising it. His oft abandoned sketchbook would be brought out of semi-retirement and he would drag his feelings out onto the paper to face the light of day. He was self-taught, so his art had never been what any true student of the arts could call beautiful, but it was his, and whatever he drew was how he saw it, not what it was in truth.

He never drew Laurence; not directly at least. He was no coward, but he was a veteran in this particular war, and some battles were not possible to win. Anyone who had met Laurence briefly would not recognise the figures in his sketchbook, but his more intimate friends would know the relaxed line of his shoulders after a game of cards; the would know the hands that held _Principa Mathematica_ night after night; they would know the strands of hair that slipped into his eyes after a long day.

The best and worst part of it all was that Laurence considered him his closest friend, and he thought the same. He loved Laurence in all his glory and all his flaws. Maybe it would have been easier if he only loved some idealised version of Laurence in his head, but would it have been as sincere? Granby thought not.

He sees Tharkay come to a similar realisation in Istanbul. Watching his own emotions play in another man’s eyes is an indescribable experience, and so is the friendship that it sparks between them. If Laurence is surprised to learn how close Granby and Tharkay become so fast, propriety demands he does not comment on it.

“How have you coped with this?” Tharkay asks him one night. They are alone with a candle, an empty bottle of rotgut, and Laurence’s shadow.

Granby laughs. Not to deride Tharkay, but because he knows Tharkay will hate what he is about to say.

“I haven’t _’coped with this’_. I have felt it, the same I feel every other kind of love - for my mother, for Temeraire, for the crew,” Granby shrugs, “It is just love.”

Tharkay gives him a look usually reserved for dog shit stuck to the bottom of a boot, and Granby laughs so hard he cries.

When they stop drinking together and start sleeping together, Granby finds the love that comes from Tharkay is a feast compared to the scraps he has sustained himself on from Laurence. He loves hard and fast in his eagerness and scares Tharkay away for a time.

But then Laurence does the most outrageously honourable and reckless thing either of them have ever seen and Tharkay is back in Granby’s arms. 

“You love him,” Granby murmurs into the top of Tharkay’s head. They are curled together from their toes upwards; it is impossible for Tharkay to hide how his shoulders tense, but he tries anyway. “You should feel it. All of it. Be brave, Tenzing.”

“You would see me suffer,” Tharkay says bitterly. Granby kisses his hair.

“Not alone,” He promises.

Tharkay doesn’t reply, just turns in his arms and kisses him quiet. 

They do not allow Laurence to suffer alone either, and follow him in exile. Tharkay is simultaneously brazen and mysterious about his choice to join Laurence; Granby simply packs a bag, sends one final letter to Mam, and allows himself to be kidnapped by his gleeful dragon. Iskeirka plays her part wonderfully and Tharkay’s eyes laugh at him across the deck when he explains what happened to Laurence.

“We are lucky,” Granby will tell Tharkay later, whenever circumstances conspire against them again. It seems to happen quite a lot, “We are lucky that we know the sort of love other people will deny themselves.”

Tharkay raises an eyebrow, his armour locked on so tightly he is likely to choke.

“If we were truly lucky, we would not love a man who has the romantic awareness of a cloistered monk.”

Granby laughs and does not see that Tharkay cannot sit quietly with his love like Granby himself has. The three of them are already close, but when Granby and Tharkay join Laurence in his valley permanently, they circle closer and closer together until their sharp edges and rough patches clash and whether Tharkay fights with knives or with words, he is lethal.

But perhaps more importantly, Tharkay is exhausted. Granby can see it in how he holds himself as he spits vitriol at Laurence. He has exhausted himself by denying the immensity of his respect and love for Laurence, and it has made this self-sufficient man angry to have so much of his happiness depend on another. When Laurence finally gathers himself to retaliate and shout back, Granby blames himself. For all his talk, unrequited love is damn draining, and he should have seen this storm on the horizon long before it arrived and threatened to destroy everything he cares for.

“Enough!” Granby shouts, “I won’t have this any longer.”

“John —” Both of them say, in harmonising tones of exasperation. 

“Shut up,” Granby orders. 

Laurence squares his shoulders and Tharkay snarls. Granby ignores it. He has always believed that there was no need to force an ending to this unspoken thing between him and Laurence made of more devotion than sense. Maybe if it had been him alone he would have lived out his days in silence, but Tharkay has forced his hand — and because he loves Tharkay’s faults as well, this was an inevitability, he reminds himself. Now he must take control and lead the charge to this final battle, for good or ill. He takes a steadying breath that rattles around his chest.

So many times he has crushed the words he wanted to say beneath his tongue. So many times he has wondered how it would feel to finally let them out. On the good nights, that fantasy would sustain his belief that he was entitled to feel what he felt because when he would rehearse what he would say, every word rang with sincerity. 

But on some of his worst nights, sodden with drink and aching with loneliness, he would convince himself that the next time he saw Laurence would be the time to tell him so that he could be rejected and relegated to the distant and polite interactions Laurence performed with colleagues. He would speak to drain the wound, he would be able to heal from the constant blows to his heart and he would move on. But inevitably the sun would bring a new day and the world would bring new troubles to rest on Laurence’s shoulders, and Granby could not bear to add any more. 

It was a burden he bore alone until Tharkay’s piercing eyes had picked him apart and rebuilt him, stronger and wiser. If Laurence were to reject them, however gently, Granby didn’t think he would be able to return the favour and collect the pieces Tharkay that would splinter into, although not for lack of trying. 

“Will,” Granby says, and he is not surprised to hear his voice shake, “The three of us have survived so much. So much more than I even thought we would. We have _earned_ this peace, and now that we are here, together, what would happen if we decided to do more? To _live_ , not just survive? To love, even?"

Tharkay inhales sharply but says nothing. Laurence’s eyes are very wide.

Granby forges ahead, "Tharkay, Iskeirka - the greatest joys in my life, I found at your side; I only offer you the same in return." 

There is silence save for the nighttime noises of the land, and the rumble of Iskeirka’s snores. 

“Why, John,” Tenzing murmurs, “Wherever have you been hiding that tender heart?”

Granby gives a short, almost hysterical burst of laughter. 

“Hypocrisy does not suit you, Tenzing.”

Tharkay quirks the corner of his mouth up and Granby leans in to kiss him briefly. When he pulls back, he sees Laurence has not looked away. Instead he watches them with a softness in his eyes that has hope warming in Granby’s chest like a glass of whiskey.

“All these years - you have never said anything," Laurence says, just as softly as Tharkay.

“It hurt,” Granby says simply, “If I loved you less, then I might be able to talk about it more.” 

“Please, don’t,” Laurence says, swallowing. He steps closer, reaching out, fingertips brushing over Granby’s knuckles. Granby laces their fingers together, and leans against Tharkay’s side, “Please don’t love me less.”

If they had not been standing so close, Tharkay’s wordless noise of relief might have gone unnoticed. But the three of them are shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, and an uncharacteristic shy expression comes to Laurence’s face.

“Tenzing,” He says, “May I kiss you?”

Tharkay says nothing, but tilts his chin up as if issuing a challenge. Granby smiles as he watches Laurence cup Tharkay’s cheek and kiss him. They all have their defences, but Tharkay wears more armour than both of them put together; he breaks out of it all at once, stepping up close to Laurence and gripping his waist. His brow furrows and Granby shivers when he sees Tharkay lick into Laurence’s mouth. He has received that possessiveness more times than he can count and it thrills him to see it given to Laurence. 

Laurence is still holding Granby’s hand. Granby brushes his thumb over his knuckles absently as he watches them kiss. How lovely, that he has gone from burning up with jealousy over Tharkay claiming Laurence’s attention to feeling soothed that Laurence returns Tharkay’s affection. Oh they are certainly a beautiful study in contrasts to look at, and Granby believes they shall only be more glorious when they are naked, but they compliment each other in many more important ways. 

The line of Laurence’s jaw draws Granby’s eye; it has done for years. This time however, he can indulge in the desire he has harboured for so long. He closes the gap between the three of them and ducks his head slightly to press his mouth to the tanned corner of Laurence’s jaw.

The rumbling moan that Laurence gives in return sends a spark down Granby’s spine. Laurence’s grip on Granby’s fingers turn vicelike. Tharkay frees one arm and rests his hand in the small of Granby’s back, the warmth bleeding through his thin shirt. 

Laurence pulls back, reluctance written in every movement.

“Perhaps we should go inside,” His voice is rough and Granby closes his eyes involuntarily to absorb the blow. 

“I think that would be best,” Tharkay’s eyes are alight in a manner that Granby has come to anticipate.

“I will follow you,” Granby says simply, truthfully.

Laurence rests his forehead briefly against his own; for a brief moment, all the world is gold and blue. Then Tharkay breaks the stalemate by stepping back and making for their house; Granby grins at his eagerness, but he walks at a brisk pace, hand in hand with Laurence.

**Author's Note:**

> cant believe i wrote 2K words of Granby being in love with Laurence and they didnt even kiss idek
> 
> yes the line _"If I loved you less, then I might be able to talk about it more."_ is from Jane Austen's Emma, I could not resist


End file.
